


The Honey is Worth the Sting.

by Howlynn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, BAMF John, Dark Sherlock, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Fight Sex, Fucked Up, Jealous Sherlock, John Is So Done, John is Not Amused, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:51:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10333004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlynn/pseuds/Howlynn
Summary: During the worst fight they have ever had, Sherlock blurts out the truth.  He is in love with John.





	1. Colony collapse

The Honey is Worth the Sting.

* * *

 

By Howlynn

* * *

 

This is strickly a writing prompt for fun and not profit. It is in no way meant to infringe on copywrite. 

 

* * *

 

 "The bees will go, Sherlock, or Rosie and I will," John fumed, glaring at his flatmate.

 

"Mrs. Hudson said it was fine. They are on the roof. Two floors away.  They are hardly going to pop down for tea." Sherlock challenged, his face a mask of livid refusal.

 

"Fine then.  We are moving out."

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, weapon chosen, deduction.   "The bees are just an excuse.  They have been there for months, now that you know about them, you pack Rosamund off to Molly's as if they suddenly present some danger because of your newfound awareness. You have been hunting for any reason since you moved back in to have an excuse to move back out.  I have accommodated you and all the treasures of babydom to keep you happy.  If you do not wish to be here, do tell me why?   Why did you even bother?" He stepped forward and spoke with little intonation but the speed of his words showed how angry he truly was. "You want out. Leave. You have been planning it for some time.  The girl at the chippy has her hooks in you already and all she had to do was bat her eyes at you and there goes Three Continents Watson.  Got your cock out for her yet? She will love that, they always do...and 'Doctor' gets them wet thinking about how they will spend all your money.  And, you have been playing that up lately, how comfortable you can make life for the right girl.  Not love, just babysitting and a good shag.  But this one is playing the Rosie card and that has you gasping...she wants to be a Mum...can't have any of her own thanks to that little sexually transmitted disease her Uni boyfriend passed on...or that is the story she told you.  She cheated, not him and she will make your life a living hell but that is still better to you than staying..."

 

"Shut up.  You are such a complete bastard," John said low and dangerous.

 

"Noted, but I am not wrong. That is your problem, isn't it? Me?  You are so afraid of what is right in front of you that you will use any excuse...especially--"

 

"I will do what is right for my daughter and that most assuredly is not you or a million goddam stinging insects for pets.  It follows you like a bee to a hive...death and pain and stupidity and I have had enough...I wish..." John inhaled sharply, cutting off his words.

 

"Say it?" Sherlock demanded.

 

John turned his head slightly and smiled. It was both threat and denial in the same gesture. He growled in the back of his throat.

 

"Too much of a coward?  You could try hitting me again, after all, you never really apologised.  Not for that.  Not for kicking me like you wanted me dead. Say it to me once and for all. Show me so I never have another doubt.  You apologised to your dead wife for cheating on her with my sister but...not to me...go ahead. Have another go...Doctor." Sherlock held his arms away from his body, palms up, a sacrificial lamb for the slaughter, daring his flatmate to again resort to violence.

 

John's breathing was barely controllable now and his eyes sparkled with hatred for the man before him.  "I wish you had never come back.  There."

 

"I wish I had not either...all of the times I did. No matter what I do, or why, it always comes down to you and this need to be cross with me on every possible occasion. You have hated me every moment since...since I returned.  I did what you asked.  I have lived every second hoping and begging for you to forgive me.   I am nothing to you now but some habit you can't quite stomach and you can't quite break..."

 

"Oh please, you should talk of habits...I search this flat every three fucking days, Sherlock.  You know why?  Because you lie and it never stops.  You get in the mood for no reason and what do you think?  Will I stop you?  Will Rosie?  God no.  It is going to happen at some point and how do I explain it to her? Hmmm? When you are dead on the floor of an overdose?  Will she be old enough to remember?  Will I have to explain to my little girl that she was not enough?  That 'Herlock' left us on a lark...because he was bored and decided that putting shit in his veins counted more than she did?  You were her first word...not a repeating single sound.  But your name.  Does that even matter to you?  You pretend last year never happened...but it did...and every three days I have to dig..."John's voice broke, but he took a deep breath and a step forward and pointed at the floor to mark his end of the conversation, "because you don't give a damned about anyone but you. Putting you in her life...it was a mistake.  I don't want her around you. "

 

"Your wish is my command," Sherlock said viciously. Sherlock reached into the desk drawer and pulled out John's Sig 226R and checked the mag and flicked off the safety.  

 

John stepped forward at once and with military precision disarmed Sherlock and put him on the floor in a control position.  He shouted into his ear, out of breath and adrenaline fueling his need for oxygen.  "I hate you.  I really...really hate you.  What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

Sherlock struggled but John held him painfully.  In his fury, Sherlock shouted back, "How can you be so stupid! I have told you in every way humanly possible...over and over..."

 

"You tell me nothing.  You make me guess and then make fun of me.  I know nothing about you other than the fact that keeping you in one piece is too much--"

 

 

" I am in love with you!" 

 

Johns grip tightened and he made it hurt. "Liar.  Take it back. You will say anything to throw me off.  I could just break your arm."

 

Sherlock winced in pain.  Through gritted teeth he growled in fury, "Then bloody do it, if it will make you See!"

 

John's mouth opened in a daze and his grip loosened as he scrambled backward and stood. " We.  Are done.  That is the cruelest thing you could have ever said to me.  Congratulations.  You win."

 

Without another word, John picked up his weapon, flicked the safety and doing a quick-turn whilst tucking the gun under his jumper at the small of his back, he walked out. 

 

Sherlock, called after him, several times, even following him down the stairs. But, John ignored him.

 

Sherlock pulled out his phone.  He checked the nanny cam and watched Rosie grin at Molly who had her in the kitchen feeding her and playing the aeroplane game.  He would never see her again.  The argument was stupid and had somehow gone into territory that was more than likely going to cost him everything he loved.

 

John did not love him, and Sherlock knew he had to accept that.  It meant one day he would lose John to some new woman.  He was foolish for letting his anger and jealousy fall out of his mouth and his disappointment follow with untoward confessions of his deepest secret.   But, so long as he had Rose, some part of John Watson loved Sherlock Holmes exactly as he is.   Something pure in this world, loved him.  

 

He could always just end it as John had indicated he expected.  Right now.  No more. But, he would be hated for eternity if he did that.  Forgotten by Rosamund and never have the privilege of seeing her grow and discovering what she thought and if she might play the violin or play golf with Uncle My.  He would be...away for all of the puzzles he had constructed about what her life would be. 

 

He was Sherlock Holmes.  He was still here, with the living and that meant this could be fixed.   At least in theory, it could be fixed.

 

"Not today, Samarra," he whispered.

 

He typed quickly.

 

*I am sorry.  I did not mean it.  Please.  I have been clean for most of the last year.  It was one relapse.  There have been none since-SH*

 

*You know that is true.-SH*

 

*Please, John.  I will get rid of the bees.-SH*

 

*I will do anything you ask.  Please.  Don't take her from me too.  She is all I have of you.  Please.-SH*

 

*I did not mean it.-SH*

 

He waited.  There was no response.   It was heinous.    

 

Sherlock stepped out on the roof and spoke to his bees.  It was his way to treat them with the traditions of the old ways.  He did not suit up for the conversation.

 

He set his phone on the railing and stood on the makeshift terrace between the two Langstroth hives as he explained his need to find new homes for them. He apologised for any upheaval the move would cause and watched the setting sun from his little sanctuary.  This was Sherlock's place of peace and he would lament its loss.

 He had kept them a secret for the last three months. Well, Mrs. Hudson had been aware because he had to get her permission to build the terrace in the first place.  He had worked on this project for the last 8 months.  John had not noticed.

Mrs. Hudson did not mind them.   She had even planted flowers and had two folding chairs in the corner furthest from the hives.

 

They were coming along so nicely.  He would miss the smell of them and the calm tasks of their care.  

 

His phone buzzed and tried to walk off the rail from the vibration.  Sherlock rushed to save it and did not notice the tiny screw that snagged onto his trousers.   His focus was on his phone in case it was John.

 

He opened the text and sighed in relief...

 

*Sherlock.  Don't make me regret this.  You were right about some things and now that I have cooled down, we need to talk.*

 

Then his head snapped up and Sherlock turned as he realised what the crashing sound behind him was just as the first sting followed by two more made him hiss in pain.   

 

The detective knew he was in trouble by the time he righted the toppled hive.  He tried to remain calm, but he was breathing hard and beginning to sweat and his mind could not stop his instinct to swat at the painful sticks of venom.   

 

He had only needed seconds to stand the hive back up but the bees did not understand why their world had jolted and they defended their home.

 

The transport was wobbling by the time he got down the stairs.  He could not see his phone, he could barely see at all.  Just after feeling the door to John and Rosie's room, he lost the ability to navigate and slid down the rest of the stairs on his stinging bum.  Everywhere stung, in fact, and he was so alive with pain that he was getting a bit numb.   

 

He just needed a moment to rest his eyes and he leaned carefully against the wall, unaware he was gasping.  Sherlock did not get up again.

 

John took a deep calming breath before opening the door.  His first shock was a lone bee greeting him and flying awkwardly out the door as he entered.

 

There were two more bees in their death throws twiddling in circles in the landing and several more dead or dieing ones up the stairs.  

 

He looked up the stairs as he realised the squeaking hiss he was hearing was not unfamiliar.  The doctor had heard it in the A&E many times.

 

Rushing up the stairs he found a swollen gasping creature wearing Sherlock's hair and a suit bedazzled with stingers and alive with bees still struggling with the dismount.  It was something out of a horror movie and just as he thought this, a sodden bee crawled out of Sherlock's mouth.  

 

"Shit." was all he could manage as he pulled out his phone and dialed 999 whilst on the run to the sitting room to retrieve his bag. He prayed he had enough epinephrine and adrenaline to keep Sherlock breathing until the ambulance arrived.  John did not speak loudly as he spoke to emergency services on speaker as he worked to cut away Sherlock's suit and trousers.  The barbed stingers mostly pulled away with the fabric.  

 

By the time the ambulance arrived, John was far more confident that Sherlock would survive because his heart rate had picked up and he was struggling to breathe slightly less.  

 

John explained what he had administered and an IV was started on the way.  The detective regained consciousness just in time for the joy of stinger removal and he did not endure the proceeding with stoic calm but complained loudly the entire time and deduced horrifically embarrassing things about both John and his other attendants despite his eyes swelling shut.   

 

The night settled in and Sherlock had been admitted.  He was not fully sedated but slept deeply thanks to a cocktail of  Antihistamines and Analgesics.  

 

John wanted sleep but it was playing tease as his mind did a lurching dance of regret and 'what if' in an endless loop.

* * *

 

 

Thanks for reading.  Chapter 2 will be posted soon but my spellcheck has taken a powder so if you see a mistake please let me know.   It does get better or at least fluffier.   


	2. Arthropod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the stinging, John thinks things through and Mycroft...flirts.

Chapter 2

 

John had made the appropriate phone calls to those concerned about Sherlock's condition.   Mycroft demanded an explanation for the behavior of the bees.  

 

"Bees, like people, always have a reason for their every action, John."

 

"Yeah?  Well, you ought to tell the bees that because bugs are outside my medical training.  So, help yourself to interrogating them.  Believe you have a key?  Best of luck,"  John said with hostility just under the bubbling point.

 

"I assume you wish for me to see to their removal?" Mycroft stated more than asked.

 

"That will be up to...hang on, are you offering to use your spooks to make bees who hurt your brother...disappear? Oh my God, can you--"

 

Mycroft sighed heavily as he listened to John chuckle. "I simply wished to help if it is within--"

 

John's voice deepened and grew deadly serious.  "So tell me, Mycroft, old pal.  Last year...why didn't you make me disappear?" 

 

Now it was Mycroft's turn to display mirth though on the bespoke clad man of mystery on the other side of the phone, that came across as more snide than joyful.  "I honestly thought you were more clever than you appear.  I abhor being proved wrong.  I would think the answer to that question could be solved, well, by anyone who has spent five minutes in your proximity.  Do try harder, John, that scenario is yet to be completely abandoned, but I do have confidence that you will catch up to the class before I have to implement such measures.  Do ring me if you need anything."

 

The 'call ended' notification lit up John's phone.  He replied anyway, assuming the tosser could probably still hear him. "Yeah. Okay then. And do feel free to suck my cock any time you need a little of that ego of yours brought back to planetary levels."

 

John set his phone down and rubbed his eyes, exhausted and miserable.  His phone pinged that he had an unknown text.  

 

*An offer that you should probably point more in the direction of my brother if my opinion may be taken in good spirit. M*

 

A few seconds later...

 

*  Though if it coincides with the vanishing project, I shall keep your kind proposal in mind.  Tempting. M* 

 

  John read the texts three times then pointedly powered down the device and again set it on the side table.

 

A few seconds later the phone came back to life.   Ping.

 

*childsplay. M*

 

John frowned, removed the back and took the battery out of the phone. He smiled with satisfaction.  

 

John leaned back to close his eyes and doze.  He had spoken to Molly and Rosie was already sound asleep.  John just wanted to shut his mind down for a few moments too.  There was always a crash after the rush of adrenaline in battle and in medicine.   

 

The night nurse came to chart Sherlock's vitals because though 860 stings were easily survivable by an adult with no bee allergy, the toxin could do bad things to the liver, heart and kidneys.  Keeping him hydrated and catheterised was important in flushing his system and decreasing the acid PH of his output.   

 

John was in for a long day of bitching and devious escape plans come tomorrow and he also had some heart to heart jabs he would have to endure like flu shots.   Sherlock was right.  He has been a bit of a dick for a very long time and it was past due time for him to stop treating Sherlock as if he regretted that he had gotten the miracle he had once begged for in front of a poncy headstone with tears in his eyes and a heart filled with the call to follow his beloved detective.  

 

John knew the fear of that place and having to step back inside that abyss he had walked in until Mary had led him out, was part of why he had allowed this reserve and the resulting harm he had caused today.  He feared Sherlock leaving him behind again more with every day that passed.  Today had been yet one more box of terror on the load he was unable to bear any longer.

 

He had to either close his eyes and hang on to the wheel, turn into the red sky and beat to weather on a ship that was not seaworthy or he had to admit he was a rat on a ship filing Samarra as its destination and abandon it without any care to its fate.

 

Sherlock was a compete disaster in his life and yet he was also all the warmth of the sun and the darkness in need of a star.  Days like today, burned John.  

 

It was luck that Sherlock had not died.  He would have if John had not come back.  If he had sat at the pub for one more pint, or not read the texts, or had let his wounded heart seek Mindy at the Fish and Chip place and allow her to offer him her very distracting arse for his immediate worship...if that had been his reaction...Sherlock Holmes would have slumped to his death from shock on the stairs and died thinking John had wished it.  

That was a bit of a wake up call and yet not even his first.  He was always full of regret in that Schrodinger's cat moment of life and death in the realm of Sherlock, but the sun would come up and he would talk himself into silence.   

 

He was pretty sure that at this point he was only fooling himself and one Consulting Detective with a very John shaped blind spot.

 

What if today had been his last chance.  What if he had simply smiled and let his face soften and let his eyes shine how he felt?  

John had been able to do that once and he thought he saw it refected from time to time.  He knew he had been able to show his feelings back when it really was just them against all the Donovans and Moriartys of the world. 

Sometimes he did believe Sherlock reflected John's secret, but fear drove their hearts back into hiding and things were cracking under the strain.   

 

What would have happened if John had simply let himself fall and said let the consequences be damned?  They would not be here right now.  They may have even found themselves shagged out and blissfully feeling pity for the loveless lot.   

 

The picture of that image made him squirm in the chair slightly, his knob casting its vote on the matter with out hesitancy.    He lifted his leg slightly and opened his eyes, to see nurse Vanderhorn standing over him.

 

"Jesus, you gave me a fright.  What is it? What happened?" He demanded.

 

"I am sorry, Doctor.  The patient is fine.    You however have some items at the nurses station. I just was trying to determine the best way to wake you gently.  You are military like my, Da, so thought it best to just let my presence find your soldier radar...rather than ...well...waking me Da was a bit of a punt, sir."

 

John sighed and grinned up at her.  "Yeah, best in my case too.  Good on you and ta."

 

A delivery man with a dolly waited at attention, clipboard in hand, ignoring the slow paced grey lit activity of a general admission ward in the deep hours of night.  He saluted John as soon as he saw him.  John returned the gesture in confusion but played along.   

 

"Delivery, Sir.  Sign here.  I can help you take it all to the room but could not enter the delivery point without escort. Sorry, for any confusion or inconvenience."

 

" Wait.  What is all this.  I thought you might have a take-away.  This cannot all be for us.  It is three or four days...we aren't planning on living here.  "

"This will explain, Sir.  Now if you don' t mind, I have other duties as well."  The soldier handed John an envelope and expertly tilted the dolly and headed toward Sherlock's room.

 

John opened the official looking letter and found a familiar precise handwritten note on governmental letterhead.    

 

 

 

 

My dearest John,

 

Now you are just flirting.

 

What next?  Shall we break my brother entirely and elope?

 

A few comforts, to ease your inner beast and the one you shall have the joy of offering life or death to, by your words.  Choose carefully, because this my version of flirting back.

 

Do put the battery back in your phone.

 

M

 

 

"Jesus..." John said under his breath.

 

He followed the soldier and quietly directed him to put the nine boxes in the corner.  He gestured for it to be done quietly so as not to disturb Sherlock.  John returned to his chair, not opening a single box. He would deal with them when Sherlock was awake.  Make him deduce what was in them or something to keep him occupied peacefully for a few minutes.

 

He closed his eyes and the next awareness he had was an empty plastic watercup striking him above the right eye.   He pushed the footrest down and came up from the chair in battle ready mode.

 

He looked around and saw no emergency and then noticed the furious face of a swollen, one eyed, ball of nightmare aimed at him directly.  

 

"What the actual fuu...Sherlock? Did you just throw your drinking cup at me?"

 

Sherlock rumbled like a volcano, "You.......FLIRTED....with...MYCROFT! Dear God, kill me now. Are you shagging?  I am going to be ill.  How did I miss this!"

 

"Now hang on, Sherlock--"

 

"Get out of my SIGHT.  First you shag my psychotic Sister and I could forgive that a bit....but now....Oh my bleeding God....am I last on the list behind even my own mentally deficient siblings?  Why are you still here...GO AWAY!  I hate you.  I absolutely hate you!"

 

John lost his look of annoyance and then he chuckled.  Then he let his whole heart laugh.  This of course made Sherlock more furious and he threw every item on his trolly table at John with varying degrees of accuracy.

 

John felt something shift inside.  He had been hammering nails to keep this feeling at bay and one moment he was adrift in the doldrums and the next his soul filled with zephyrs and he could breathe deeply and feel the world around him again.

 

Joy.  God how long had it been since he felt that.   Rosie was almost three now and that had been the last time he could remember feeling any measure of joy.

 

He finally noticed that Sherlock was now pealing off plasters and still livid...more so because of John's laughter... Sherlock was wadding the sticky balls and lobbing those at John.

 

 "...self-administered lo....bod...om...meeee...with a plastic spork to get that out of my head.  I hate you for this!"

 

" Well that is just too damned bad that you hate me, Sherlock.  Because I have been so madly in love with you for ages that I can't breathe anymore.  I don't even want to if you are not breathing too.  I love you."  John took a deep breath and held it.  Closing his eyes in supplication, waiting for the bomb to turn him to red mist.

 Sherlock was silent.

As before, on the lost train car under Parliament, nothing happened but a hissing noise.  Sherlock was laughing at him. He would make fun of him for believing his lie and say horrid things and it didn't matter at all.  

 

The darkness was lifted from John's heart.  Forgiveness flooded him and no matter what, Sherlock would never die unloved.  It was a burden lifted and even Sherlock's laughter could not spoil it.

 

John opened his eyes, to find Sherlock actually sobbing.  He was beyond meltdown and into the range of uncontrollable ugly snotfest.  

 

John smiled and his eyes softened and shined with love.  He looked at the face before him...angular but swollen into a blob, one brilliantly red and turquoise eye and one leaking slit where an eye should be.  There were plasters and greasy cream all over him and a catheter bag swinging from the bed, snot running down to his clownishly swollen lips....too skinny....too arrogant...and frankly the most annoying dick on the planet and that was the person John had picked out of all the beautiful women he had ever bedded...this was who his heart could not exist without.  

 

Sherlock bloody Holmes, the most beautiful man he had ever seen.  He really needed his eyes checked.   

 

John said softly as he dropped the bedrail and sat, "I love you more than life and I always will.  

 

Sherlock was incapable of speech for almost 45 minutes, blew his nose on John's shirt ignoring the tissue box, let John hold him as he tried to breathe...and eventually his brain rebooted and he demanded, "If you really loved me, you would take me home this instant."

 

John murmured, "Eight hundred and eighty seven bees disagree. More actually, have not counted the stingers that got stuck in your clothing and did not make it to you.  I am here...Mycroft sent nine boxes of crap to keep us entertained and I did flirt with him a bit, in case there is torture and death later...I am hoping for some small measures of mercy."

 

Sherlock shrugged and agreed.  " Best to hedge your bets.  Never know."

 

"So...what are you thinking about so intently."

 

"The bees."

 

"The bugs are fine, Sherlock.  Mycroft will take them away if you like?  After this I assume you wont be keen--"

 

"If I have to lose them, I will find a good home for them. I love them even more now.  I told my sorrows to the bees...and they heard me." 

 

John frowned and leaned back to look at Sherlock. "They nearly stung you to death."

 

" They made you love me.  The honey is worth the sting, John." 

 

* * *

There is a chapter 3 on the way with some hotty bits...just so you know.


	3. Apis mellifera,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about issues and John snogs potatoface.

Chapter 3

 

 

When Sherlock calmed down, he chuckled and asked, "Exactly how much trouble are you in?  With my brother?"

 

"Oh...a bit.  He will probably take the results into consideration, but, you tell me? There are a lot of boxes.  Go on, then. Be brilliant." 

 

"He knew if I saw you getting spoiled and pampered to that level, that I would assume there was a basis for such a display of affection.  He knew it would make me jealous and whilst I am normally able to suppress such untoward displays of sentiment...only the green eyed monster would convince you.  You have seen me fake everything else, and it was destroying your confidence that I was capable of more than mimicking emotion.  But jealousy...ohh that is a shameful state of being and nobody would want to fake that, especially not me.  I detest any form of pity or letting people see me as...human. But, I am not in top form with the painkillers and the rest of it.  Cannot escape to somewhere private as I normally would. The itching has begun and requires a large chunk of my capacity to suppress.  On top of that, one glance would tell me most of those boxes were not for me, but you ...and I immediately would jump to the conclusion that you were meeting him...not the girl at the chippy after all, and that his endeavours to woo you away had finally come to fruition.  Clever."

 

John grinned in amazement.  "I didn't even open the boxes.  How did you know it was for me?"

 

Sherlock preened slightly which did not have the normal effect it did when his face did not look like a potato.  "Simple really.  SugarSin.  The box on top.     It is a little Willy Wonka of wonders in Russell street and he always uses them for displays of amorous overture...he has an account.  Box that size...expensive and they only use that style for their special orders. Serious display of bank and he always gets a return on his investments. Of course he would never send that to me.  Spent a month in hospital after...after I was shot and readmitted...and had to beg him to bring me even a decent toothbrush and razor.  Oh...and the clothing.  Can you smell the tweed?  He is absolutely right of course, you will look fantastic in Mark Powell. Four boxes, it is a wardrobe.  Not my style...not my colours...it will make me lust after you though, beyond all sanity.  The next box actually is for me.  Dressing gown, comforts and probably some boring case file he can't be arsed to glance at.  An appeasement for stealing my pathetic hope when he could display all the marks of a perfect companion.  Especially for you, John.  Responsible, thoughtful...always in control...yet highly dangerous.  He could appear on your arm and not embarrass you like I do and he is very good at all the social niceties that you set such store by...I have no ability to compete with that...I am-"

 

John interrupted, "Apart from the fact that I find him to be the most insufferable git I have ever met and his pomposity releases an uncontrollable urge to poke the monster with a stick...how could you ever imagine I would find him attractive?  Sounds almost like you are trying to convince me.  I don't want to be your brother-in-law, you idiot.  And for the record, I did not technically shag your sister.  So there."

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in clear skepticism.  "John.  You did not have intercourse. Good thing too, she probably would have killed you after.  Remember the therapist.  It does not matter now...but there was more than texting and less than penetration."  Sherlock met John's eyes and waited.

 

John let anger melt to acceptance and dropped his eyes and nodded. "Okay.  Yeah.  When Mary...left.  I was...incredibly...angry.  I suspected Mary seduced you...I...cannot excuse myself for thinking that to justify what I was up to...but that happened.  Like you said.  Everything but.  I felt horrible about it. Tried to end it even...then..well.  I'm sorry I lied on top of it all."

 

"The truth can be quite fluid, even if the facts are all in order," Sherlock replied quietly. "You really thought I had it on...with your wife?"

 

John shrugged, uncomfortable.  "You both snuck away from me, often.  Times coincided.  I had someone tell me you had...well, a hideaway.  Neither of you told me anything about it...but I could smell the candles and musty things...on you and her.   She asked a lot of questions, Sherlock.  Had a way of worming things out of me that I did not want to tell.  But, she also had tells.  After I found them...I saw deception in every glance...which according to our Therapist, has to do with me projecting my guilt.  I wanted you.  Even then...and I have been hating you for that.  I did not realise it. She had said it to me and I pretended to understand, but I," John had to take a moment and breathe in order to hold back the tears.  "You were right.  I never said I was sorry...for...that day in the morgue. "

 

"There is no need--"

 

"Yeah.  There is.  God.  There really is.  What you said before you got stung was true.  But there is something worse.  I have to tell you, before this goes any further."

 

"John...please do not offer me hope then snatch it from my fingers.  Whatever you have to say? I don't care."

 

John took a deep breath and held it.  He sucked half his lip between his teeth and worried at it a moment.  "I am sorry, but I do.  Has to be said.  I am not what the jumpers and tea tin says Sherlock.  I want to be that guy that you think I am and she thought I was...but...the day I beat you for something you did not do, changed that.  Not only did I intend to put you in the hospital...I think I tried to kill you.  I want to deny that, I have run it through my head a million times...but I cannot pretend I would have stopped.

 

"And before you wave it away...it gets worse.  I knew Culverton Smith was going to kill you.  I came to the hospital and said goodbye, knowing I would never see you alive again...and...I left you to it.  I left you to die...and I have to live with that."

 

Sherlock did not seem surprised.  " I know, John.  I was not sedated.   I heard what you said.  But, the important thing is that you came back."

 

"No.  That is not the move of a hero.  It was the move of a stupid man...who can never actually deserve you.  Cannot make up for...that.  I walked away in my fog of misplaced anger and I only went to see what the hell Mycroft wanted this time so that I could make him my alibi.  He could not kill me for leaving you to die if I was with him...when it happened.  Lestrade wrote my actions off as deserved out of the goodness of his heart and letting his friendship for me cloud his judgement.  We watched the broadcast together and I did not clue Greg in that putting you in his 'favorite room' meant the morgue.  He said it...right on the Telly and I decided...I decided that....jesus..." John took a few deep breaths and swallowed several times.

 

"I decided that you were about to die no matter what...because of the drugs.  I knew you would have a back up plan...I knew I was your back up plan.  But, I hoped that at least that way, you died on a case.  One last hoorah.  Heroes death...doing what you love.  And not some forgotten junkie under a bridge.  Not a trick but a plan. I made my peace that it was inevitable and...did nothing.  At least until I happened to find out that Mary had...left you instructions and all you were doing was...trying to distract me.  I let you down. I am sorry.  I will never let you down again.  I will never hit you again...unless you are about to blow your goddamed head off or something--"

 

"Noted...and I forgive you--"

 

John raised his eyebrows pointedly."Not done?"

 

"Sorry."

 

" My temper has to be managed better.  My father...was like that.  I am terrified that...if I can't keep it together for you...then at some point...I will turn into him and...our little sweet Rosie will have every right to hate me for it.  I would rather be dead.  I seriously considered giving her up when Mary died....when I went too far...the day in the morgue.  I was there again the other day...it was right there.  But I got out in time and this next bit isn't just on me.  My fear of hurting you is in constant war with my fear of losing you...see?  There will be times I have to take a step back...get some air...leave the situation and regroup.  If we are going to try this...whatever this is...on.  I have to know that I can have that without you literally stirring up a nest of bees in my absence.  I have to know you will still be there when...I come back.  Because I will always come back.   I have tried to cut you out of my life.  Tried...and yet...everything I do...it is embarrassing a bit ...but it always leads me back here.  With you.  So I will stop being angry all the time...but for the love of God...will you stop trying to die every time you are out of my sight?"  

 

Sherlock grinned and his eyes danced,  as he advised,  "If there is kissing and more involved, it would greatly increase the odds that I would have confidence of your eventual return."

 

 

 "If it would not hurt so...I would kiss you right now."

 

"I am sorry I must look atrocious...but I have it under the good authority of our resident toddler that the kissing of booboos is cutting edge healing technology.  I would be amenable to experimentation for scientific purposes." Sherlock tried to make his one eye look both innocent and lustful, but the actual result still looked like the elephant man on a GQ photoshoot.

 

John took in the disaster of Sherlock's face.  The bees had somehow determined that the left side was far more dangerous than the right side and yet John could not have found that hopeful look in his one good eye more sexy.   He leaned in gently and touched his lips to Sherlock's enormous, abused lips and the heat of the wounded side in contrast to the cool dry right side sent an incredible array of pleasure signals straight to John's lower spine and he hummed in pleasure as Sherlock pressed forward oblivious to the pain when John had finally allowed him the desire of years of pent up fantasy.  

 

The need screamed along their synapses until they lost the filter of remembering they were in hospital.  It did not matter that there was no candlelight or romantic crime scene solve with suspects contained and blues and twos on the way.   This felt like newspapers and tea at breakfast and a warm fire on a rainy afternoon, the quiet satisfaction of anticipation and their whole minds focused on this exact place in eternity.  This felt right.

 

Sherlock groaned and broke the kiss. "Lestrade...as always your timing is abominable. Are you recording this?  Never pegged you for a pervert!"

 

"25K for proof about you two...thought we'd spilt the fee." Greg grinned and put his phone away. 

 

"Demand 30.  Video is harder to fake so it is worth more.  Bidding war could get 10 more if you try," Sherlock said.

 

 

"Done.  Jesus...little buggers did a number on your face.  Heard about your accident.  You look pure shit." 

 

"Delightful to know your thoughts.  I was having some lovely ones a moment ago.  You interrupted.   Pray tell for purpose other than my face located in proximity to Doctor Watson being a boon for your pocket book.  You have a case?"

 

Lestrade grinned.  " You are a case.  But, yeah.  Brought you some stuff from the 70's...chances are they are hopeless, but you can't say it can't be solved unless you can't solve it, yeah?"

 

Sherlock smiled at the praise and graciously accepted the files.  

 

"There is a betting pool at the nick..."

 

John looked annoyed. "About us being together?"

 

Lestrade looked offended.  "God no.  Nobody really cares cause they always thought you were. Case solved years ago in their minds. No.  About the bees. What did you do to piss them off?  Detective Inspector Donovan thinks, you might have imported some illegal strain and planned to unleash them on the unsuspecting public but they turned on you instead...once they got to know you."

 

Sherlock blushed and did not speak.  Nobody had asked him how it had happened.    

 

Lestrade continued, "I bet that something attacked them and you just happened to get mistaken and stung too."

 

John was looking at Sherlock intently. He seemed to be sure it was something much more like a temper tantrum that ended badly.  

 

"I was rushing to my phone.  Got a text.  Snagged my trousers and toppled the hive.  I spent 14 second setting it back up, but they were frightened by then.  It was not their fault in any way.  It was mine, for not paying attention," Sherlock said addressing most of the explanation to John. 

 

"Jeazz.  Really?  Hope it was important...the text." Greg shifted from one foot to the other taking an even closer look at the patient and wincing in sympathy.

 

Sherlock looked at John.  "The most important text of my life.  Worth it."

 

 

* * *

May be more. May not.  Weather is pretty.  If you are going to waste a comment complaining, own it...don't be guest.  

For those of you enjoying the story, thank you.

 

  


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